


my tears ricochet

by missvandone



Series: a midsummer night's dream [2]
Category: 16th Century CE RPF, British Royalty RPF, Historical RPF, The Spanish Princess (TV), The Tudors (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Romance, for real, ghost and afterlife, idk what this is but something like the afterlife, mention of Anne Boleyn, mention of Jane Seymour, mention of Katherine Howard, mentions of Isabella and her family, mentions of Mary and Hal, no beta we die like men, this is what happens when i listen to taylor swift, very angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:21:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27781420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missvandone/pseuds/missvandone
Summary: “Legend has it that Catherine’s ghost walks the halls of Kimbolton Castle. On one floor she appears as legs and lower body projecting from the ceiling and on another her head and shoulders have been seen gliding along the floor seemingly unaware of the alterations made to the original floor levels.”Catalina hoped, after wandering around for centuries, that she might rest soon and be welcomed into Heaven.But for now, she keeps roaming around.
Relationships: Catherine of Aragon/Henry VIII of England
Series: a midsummer night's dream [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1802560
Comments: 5
Kudos: 43





	my tears ricochet

**Author's Note:**

> I saw that quote and another about KOA's ghost, and my mind created this whole thing in my head. Plus, TSP finale and its bad portrayal of Catherine hurt my heart and I had to do something.
> 
> So basically this is kind of the afterlife or something like that? KOA's ghost is roaming around and discovering things.
> 
> (This is not a continuation of TSP s2, but I imagine young Catherine and Henry as they looked in TSP because Charlotte and Ruairi are gorgeous.)

> _“And I can go anywhere I want_
> 
> _Anywhere I want, just not home_
> 
> _And you can aim for my heart, go for blood_
> 
> _But you would still miss me in your bones._
> 
> _And I still talk to you (when I'm screaming at the sky)_
> 
> _And when you can't sleep at night (you hear my stolen lullabies)”_ ― Taylor Swift, _My Tears Ricochet_

It has been 500 years and Kimbolton Castle no longer looked as dark and gloomy as it did back then. Catalina had seen it change throughout the years, from being a family residency to Sir Henry Montagu and his many descendants, to being remodeled from 1700 to 1800, then to a war hospital and nowadays a co-ed School for young boys and girls.

Why she still wandered its hallways after so many centuries was still a mystery to her, yet she could not help but feel joyous at seeing happy youngsters around and about the castle.

 _“At least someone is happy here,_ _the Lord knows she had not been while she stayed here”_ she thought content.

Catalina hated that it was summer, for it meant no children were running around and about, the castle feeling as empty as it did in her last days alive on Earth.

She kept wandering around, looking for something which she did not even know what it could be.

_“Perhaps her sweet Mary?”_

_“Or her innocent baby Hal?”_

Her eyes glistened just thinking about them.

How they had felt in her arms when they were just born, so petite, red and just perfect. Alive. Catalina remembered counting the fingers on each of their hands, as if to ground herself in the moment because it had felt like a dream to have them finally in her arms after waiting for so long.

_“Or the babies she had lost?”_

Her hands instantly went to her belly, remembering the sounds of her agony and pained cries while miscarrying them, and she pressed her lips together, holding a sob.

The Queen quickly averted her attention onto more positive things, trying to remember a happy moment to cloud and muffle those pained cries.

Henry’s smile appeared on her mind.

_“Or even Henry…”_

She closed her eyes and tried not to think about him, instead kept her mind blank and then kept walking.

After many centuries, Catalina still kept wandering around.

**[** **♛** **♛** **♛ ]**

Catalina did not like going back to Windsor Castle.

The red-haired Queen had been happy here once, but her last years at the castle had emotionally scarred her and she no longer saw it as she once did. She remembered how they were filled with anguish over her imminent divorce, hearing how Henry pampered Mistress Boleyn and treated her above her station, or even paraded her around as if she was his wife and not her.

And the night when Henry had declared to her how their marriage was at an end.

She would always remember those words.

**_“Actually, there is no need to end something that has never been.”_ **

Catalina had fallen to her knees, screaming so loud from the pain of her broken heart, and cried for hours until the sun rose again and she no longer had any tears left to cry.

It was not the decaying and gloomy Kimbolton Castle that had made her health decline and then subsequently die, but Henry.

He had broken her heart.

Queen Catherine of Aragon, of the noble House of Trastamara, daughter of the two greatest monarchs this world had ever know, had died of a broken heart.

_“Oh, how the mighty had fallen.”_

**[** **♛** **♛** **♛ ]**

The thing she liked best about roaming the halls of Windsor Castle was seeing the tour groups. So many foreigners or even locals who visited the place and were eager to learn about its history.

She sometimes stood by while the tour guide explained all and gasped surprised along with the curious foreigners. Catalina preferred the tours in her native tongue, though the language has changed quite a lot throughout the years and became more informal and cruder.

Her mother, bless her soul, would have had a stroke if she saw how women behaved and dressed nowadays.

The Queen, who for mysterious reasons always looked like her young self in this place, quickly learnt about what had happened after her death in one of those guided tours.

It seemed that back then, she had been right.

Henry did tire of Mistress Boleyn, but instead of discarding of Anne as he did with her, he had gone as far as accusing her of despicable things and sending her to The Tower.

A Queen of England executed by the King, her husband.

She was not happy to hear about Anne’s death.

No one deserved that.

Not even _her._

Not even Kathryn Howard, despite having committed the sins she was accused, had deserved such a cruel and degrading death.

 _“Poor sweet child, at the mercy of the English court and its vultures. It is no surprise she did not last long.”_ she thought saddened.

The court of Henry VIII had been a den of lions and snakes, everyone scheming and plotting for their own benefit. She had trusted many and she had been backstabbed by many.

(One day, the late Queen had also learnt about the terrible fate of Maggie Pole, whose only sin was being the daughter of a York duke and the last of the Plantagenets, and loudly wept for hours.)

She was surprised to learn that Lady Jane Seymour had been Henry’s third wife, a quiet and meek girl who always smiled when addressed to, who gladly accompanied her to pray and read with her, and that she had passed away after giving birth to Henry’s precious boy.

Though sometimes she could not help but laugh at the irony that Henry, who had yearned for a boy all his life and broken with the Holy Church for it, had had his two daughters reign for longer than his golden son.

“The first Queen Regnant on her own right, Mary I was the sole survivor of Henry VIII’s and Catherine of Aragon’s children.” The tour guide parroted away while walking through the Lower Ward. “She is most commonly known as Bloody Mary, a cruel woman who…”

Catalina tuned him out.

Mary had been such a good Queen, though it broke her heart that the tour guides always referred to her as Bloody Mary and depicted her as an evil woman.

_“It was not fair; she had been the least bloody of all the Tudor monarchs!”_

Why did they depict her as this monster when even the bastard, Elizabeth, had followed her example in many things?

_“Mary could have reigned longer and perhaps remembered different if I had let my nephew invade England and place us on the throne.”_

She sometimes thought about what would have happened if she had allowed it. It had been Henry’s greatest fear, she had always known that. He had been so scared of her waging a war against him like the one her mother had waged.

Yet her love for her subjects and him had made her reject Charles’s offer.

 _“I am sorry, Mary. So much heartbreak and tears could have been avoided if your mother had been stronger!”_ she wept.

**[** **♛** **♛** **♛ ]**

Catalina learnt about Henry’s ghost wandering Windsor’s halls and corridors thanks to a _Ghost Tour_ (or at least that was what it said in the guide’s shirt she had been following after).

“Don’t be scared, guys!” the bald man warned the visitors, then began explaining what he knew about the matter. “King Henry VIII is said to wander these halls and corridors. His footsteps heavy, angry and shouting loudly.”

A hand was raised in the air.

“I heard Anne Boleyn’s ghost also haunts this place, so maybe that’s why he is mad?” a young woman asked the tour guide, curiosity all over her face.

The red-haired royal had not seen Mistress Boleyn’s ghost anywhere around here, despite having roamed these corridors for centuries, yet she had neither seen her former husband.

Or any other ghost.

_“Perhaps a ghost could not see another ghost?”_

She followed the group, who wandered around waiting to meet the ghost of old English Kings and Queens, despite one following them.

_“Should I try and make myself visible? It seems they would be thrilled to see a ghost...”_

But she did not, still tailing them and hearing how they called for any ghosts to come out.

Catalina soon grew tired of hearing them whine about not sighting any paranormal activity, and so she split from them. After roaming the halls and corridors, childishly caressing the walls she passed through, she decided that it was time to face some of her demons. Thus, she decidedly marched through the halls and gardens of the lovely palace until reaching St. George’s Chapel.

She had never dared to _set a foot_ on this place before, but tonight felt like the right time.

First, she kneeled at the porch and crossed herself, praying that wherever her Mary and Hal were, they were happy and content. Then, she prayed for her soul and those of her unborn babies.

She also hoped, after wandering around for centuries, that she might rest soon and be welcomed in Heaven.

 _“Oh, it would be so sweet to hug and kiss my mother and siblings after so long!”_ she tearfully thought, remembering their lovely faces and sweet smiles. “ _And my children, all of my sweet and darling children, too pure for this world. And Maria de Salinas, my loyal and kind bosom friend! And Maggie Pole too!”_

She longed to see them and the many friends she had gained throughout the years.

Catalina rose from the ground and started walking through the nave, the candles aflame around her softly illuminating the interior of the chapel in romantic shadows, and she stopped immediately when she saw the dark marble slab on the floor.

**_“In a vault_ **

**_beneath this marble slab_ **

**_are deposited the remains_ **

**_of_ **

**_Jane Seymour Queen of King Henry VIII_ **

**_1537,_ **

**_King Henry VIII_ **

**_1547,_ **

**_King Charles I_ **

**_1648_ **

**_and_ **

**_an infant child of Queen Anne._ **

**_This memorial was placed here_ **

**_by command of_ **

**_King William IV. 1837.”_**

She almost cried out loud while reading it, but remained strong while pressing her lips together, as if holding it all in.

“Oh, Harry… to end in the same vault as an executed and hated King.”

Catalina kneeled and caressed the marble slab, as if she was touching the lovely and soft cheeks of her beloved, and once again the tears started falling.

It hurt seeing and hearing what the people thought of him.

He was her beloved, her love, the father of her children and her companion. A good and compassionate man, a just King who did everything for his people and the true faith, and a good husband.

_“But it all crumbled down, you turned cruel and went mad. All because of lust and power.”_

She rose quickly, embarrassed and angry at herself for being so weak and pathetic, and thus she tried to walk over the dark marble slab towards the altar. Until something stopped her from moving any further.

A figure, kneeling as in prayer, in front of the beautiful and glorious altar five feet away from her.

 _“I did not hear the tour guides mention that they opened the Chapel for night prayers…”_ she thought with a slight tilt of her head.

She scanned the figure, curiosity crawling in her belly, and almost instantly vomited bile when she recognized those red curls.

They had always felt so soft between her fingers. She remembered how he rested his head on her bosom after a long hard day and she caressed them tenderly, listening to his complaints and thoughts. Or when she woke up too early and looked at his side of the bed, his curls spilled on her pillows and all over his handsome face.

She would stare at him and smile at the little crease on his forehead, caressing that place lovingly until it disappeared. Sometimes she would kiss it away and when she pulled away her lips from his brow, he would pull her close and murmur an _I love you._

The redhaired closed her eyes and brought a hand to her chest.

Back then, Catalina would have recognized who the mysterious devotee was in a heartbeat, but it had been so long since she had last seen him.

Her memory had started to fail her.

She opened her eyes and observed him like a hawk, after all she had been deprived of seeing him for almost two years when he divorced and casted her away.

Catalina held a needy sigh in.

At least from the back, he looked like the Henry of their first years of marriage, and not like the cruel man who had wanted to divorce her at all costs. This scene reminded her of the times where he would be troubled with a decision and either went to pray at their private Royal chapel or did so on his rooms, in his prayer’s kneeler.

Long hair with lovely curls, a tall and strong handsome man, wearing luxurious and beautiful clothes of burgundy and brown tones.

As if sensing her, the man looked over his shoulder and she tried not to gasp at what she saw.

He truly was not old King Henry VIII, but her Harry.

The one she had married.

So breathtakingly handsome.

So painfully like her beloved.

His eyes opened in shock at seeing her there.

“Cat… Catherine?” his voice sounded as melodic and strong as it did back then. He quickly crossed himself and stood up, turning around to fully stare at her. “Catherine?!”

There was wonder all over his face.

Harry took a step forward while she took a step back.

 _“Wife killer.”_ Something deep inside her yelled loudly, pain and fear attached on those words. She fisted her hand tightly. _“Cruel man.”_

She quickly replied to herself, trying to shush that cursed voice. _“But oh, so handsome! It even hurts to look at him.”_

“Is this another punishment of His for my sins?!” he yelled, his pale big hands moving to his head and tugging at his red locks, eyes shining brightly without taking his gaze off her. “Have I not suffered enough?!”

Catalina took another step back, shocked at his state and nonsensical words.

“500 years!” he screamed, tugging even more, until he fell to his knees. “I have done my repentance! I went through Hell and back these past 500 years! Enough, please! Enough!”

The red-headed Queen was completely speechless, watching how he bent his head low, almost touching the marble ground while begging loudly.

“Enough… please.”

She took a small step forward when hearing his last whimper.

“It is me.”

He did not raise his head, probably not believing her or perhaps not even listening to what she said, and kept tugging on his red locks.

She needed to bring him back to the now, to the here, to this beautiful holy place.

To her.

“Lastly, I make this vow, that mine eyes desire you above all things.”

She heard his gasp, raspy and low as if she had stabbed him with a spike. Henry rose his head, looking at her with tears running down his cheeks, pain and anguish all over his face.

“Is it truly you? My Catherine? My Catalina?”

The red-headed could not help but huff at his words and it seems that sound alighted something in him, for he rose so quickly and with such passion on his face, Catalina blushed fiery while remembering him doing the same after a long day spent apart.

No one had been surprised back then to see her pregnant so often. After all, their marriage had been one of love and not convenience.

Harry took another step closer and that made her remember his words.

“Yours!? If I am not mistaken, you said we never were truly married.” She almost spat the next words; her jaw clenched with anger and scorn while she crossed her arms under her bosom. “There is no need to end something that has never been.”

His eyes closed for a second, as if pained by her quotation of what he had said a long time ago, but then he blinked them open and took another step closer to her.

Catalina wanted to hurt him, just as he had hurt her back then, and she knew where to strike to make him bleed.

“Nevertheless, congratulations, Your Grace!” she smiled and clapped slowly while he stopped and looked at her almost curiously. Sometimes Catalina could not read his face, that was one of the many reasons he had been so good at cards. _That, and that no one wanted to anger a King._ “You have been written in the eons of history. Though not as the valiant and powerful King that you thought you were, but as the cruel and despot that you actually were.”

Harry stared at her, his gaze shining with unshed tears and ire, yet she easily registered the sadness behind those blue lovely eyes.

“Fat King Henry VIII.”

She shrugged and placed her hands on her petite hips.

“The tyrannical and cruel King Henry VIII.”

“Enough.”

“Wife killer.”

“No!”

She laughed at the way he grunted his negation.

“No? You should wander around during daylight and hear what the tour guides say about you. What history has decided to remember you for.” She pointed behind her, concealing another step back with more hurtful words. “Though the place where your body is resting should already tell you what the people nowadays think about you.”

“Enough.”

Catalina tilted her head at that and feigned thinking about it, when in reality all she was doing was committing him to memory again, and nodded weakly.

“A sad excuse for a father.”

Her words were almost choked, though she was sure Henry heard how much it hurt her to say those words out loud.

“No!” he yelled, anger and pain all over his handsome but reddened face. “No!”

“What you did to our people, to our faith, to our marriage and to our Mary was despicable and you deserve whatever Hell you have been put through.”

The red-haired Queen turned around, her burgundy skirts swishing around, and placed a hand over her chest. The pain on her heart was so piercing and fiery that it physically hurt to look at him any longer. Thus, she tried to take a step towards the doors. Her body was shaking so much and her vision was so blurry that it made the whole ordeal even more painful.

If her heart had been shattered to a hundred pieces by him, this ordeal had torn those already shattered pieces into tiny thousand more.

“Catherine.”

She took another step forward, away from him and away from the pain he inflicted upon her.

“Catalina.”

Another step, further away from him.

 _“I need to be away from him.”_ she thought weakly.

“Do not walk away from me!” his pained order made her sob, her heart pulsing and probably being torn apart once again, yet she kept on walking. “Do not turn your back on me!”

She walked over the dark marble slab and gasped when she efelt his strong arms sneak through her midsection, tugging her back towards his chest. Harry hid his face on the crook of her neck, sobs shaking his lean and strong chest against her back, and she bit her lip holding a sob.

“Forgive me.”

He asked in a soft whisper, his pain and sadness clear as a day on his words.

“No.”

“Forgive me.” His lips accidentally skimmed through the skin under her ear. “Please.”

“I cannot.” She gasped for air, her eyes closing from how much it all hurt. “I cannot.”

“You haunted me.” His confession made her tilt her head and she tried to break free from his embrace, but he tightened his hold and pressed her further towards his chest. His lips fell above her ear and Catherine felt his tears fall on the side of her face. “You haunted me on my deathbed, your phantom kept on appearing on my dreams and tore my heart into pieces.”

“Good.” She managed to mumble out loud. “I am glad.”

“I loved you.”

Those words tore a sob out of her, so loud and harsh that it echoed around them.

“I love you.”

“Yet you got rid of me when I was of no use for you.”

She heard his disgusted sob at her words and tugged her even closer to him.

“I had to.” He nodded along to his words, as if cheering himself like his councilmen used to do. “For England’s future.”

Catalina huffed.

“You had Mary! You had her!” her voice rose, anger and pain tinted all over those words, and she tried to pry his hands away. “She was our heir and despite your mistreatment, she grew to be a good Queen! Just as my mother Isabella had been in Castile!”

He clasped his big hands over her, stopping her frenetic movements.

“I told you, last time England had a woman for an heir, there was bloodshed and war. England was not the same as Castile, Cath.” His left hand grasped both of hers while the other quickly traveled to her chin, gently turning it towards him. Her blue eyes stared into his ocean ones and everything stopped. His Adam’s apple bobbed, pink lips opening and closing while tears fell down his eyes. “I… My love.”

His hand moved until cupping her cheek.

“Forgive me.”

In his eyes, she saw reflected all they had been through. Their first meeting, when she was just a young girl and him a small boy who could not stop asking questions about her country. The first time he had seen her after she recovered and how he had smiled happily. The many dinners shared together with his late father and mother after dear Arthur passed away. Him sneaking away and bringing her books from the royal library, despite the mistreatment she was enduring from his father and living away from court in poverty. Seeing him grow into a young man, handsome and kind. Reading together in comforting silence, her trying to hold a smile while he unsuccessfully sneaked peeks at her.

“Please, my love.”

Catalina remembered when she came back to court after her father named her Ambassador of Aragon, and she saw him again. He took a step forward when he saw her, completely in awe and marveled. The many walks in the gardens that came after, talking about anything and nothing, and the many hunting trips, their laughter and joy to be out of court. The Ambassador of Castile marching through the doors of her chamber, exclaiming that the King was dead. Harry coming to see her day after and quickly going down on one knee, grasping her hand and asking if she would do him the honor of being his wife.

So many loving memories and happy moments came after.

She saw it all.

Catalina smiled sadly and wrestled her hands out of his tight hold, slowly raising her left hand and grasping the one on her cheek while turning around.

“I love you too.”

She grabbed the hand and took it off her cheek, stepping out of his embrace while staring at him.

“But I cannot.”

His pained face broke her heart for the hundredth time in their lifetime and she took a step back, her left hand quickly raising to grasp her chest.

“Do not do this.” Henry extended his arms and took a step forward, trying to reach her and hug her. “Please!”

She shook her head and took another step backwards.

Then another.

And another.

All while staring at him, engraving him on her mind so she would never forget his lovely face again.

She reached the doors and his hands went to his head, probably in a state of denial and shock.

Catalina rose a hand to her lips, caressing them with her fingertips as if she could feel his lips, and smiled lovingly.

He fell down to his knees while she disappeared.

“Goodbye, my love.”


End file.
